<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Love and Light and Stuff by Eccentric_Grace</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637848">Love and Light and Stuff</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eccentric_Grace/pseuds/Eccentric_Grace'>Eccentric_Grace</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Coming Out, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gay Richie Tozier, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor Injuries, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, set after IT Chapter One</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:09:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637848</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eccentric_Grace/pseuds/Eccentric_Grace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie returns home after a fight with Bowers. His knuckles are bruised, his ribs ache—and Eddie is knocking on his window. </p><p>If he let’s Eddie inside, Eddie will know. He’ll know because Bowers doesn’t beat up someone this bad just for being a ‘loser’. </p><p>“Let me in, asshole!”</p><p>Well, that settles it, then.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak &amp; Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Love and Light and Stuff</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was eleven in the afternoon when Richie biked home from the arcade. The sun had set only a few hours ago, but the air was hot on his skin anyway. Something terrible had happened. Something that made his heart twist painfully and his spirit darken like a stormcloud. His ribs had been kicked; maybe sprained. He doesn’t know for sure. And his face--His face was a painting of bruises, violently splattered with hues of purple, blue and black. The handlebars to his bike were sticky with the blood on his bruised knuckles.</p><p>Tears blurred his vision on the way home. He got to his garage, sniffling and sobbing quietly to himself in his own pain and pity. The air inside was cool compared to the dusk Derry heat, and the change of temperature felt nice on his wounds. He grabbed a frozen bag of carrots before retreating upstairs to his room. Every light in the house was off, a sign that Mrs. Maggie Tozier and Mr. Wentworth Tozier had gone to bed early. He sent a prayer thanking anyone listening that his parents weren’t around at the moment; because he didn’t have a clue how he could explain this without outing himself or causing more trouble.</p><p>Now the adrenaline from the fight was wearing off. The words that Henry Bowers had said explode in his head like bombshells, and he forces his hands over his ears in a desperate attempt to make them stop. While the damage to his face and ribs hurt, it somehow didn’t sting as badly as the slurs cut into his heart.</p><p>Richie removes his hands from his head. His lip is curled down into a forced frown and his chest heaves as his sobs worsen in severity.  His knuckles start to drip with his blood, and he forces himself up to the bathroom to wash his hands.</p><p>As soon as he stands, there’s a thud from the window. Richie looks over, still cradling his bloodied hands, furrowing his eyebrows and already planning in his head how he was going to ask Stan about birds flying into windows in the middle of the night.</p><p>Instead of seeing a bird splatted on to his window, he sees Eddie perched on his rooftop and waving at him with a concerned expression on his face. A stone of dread drops in Richie’s stomach. If he let’s Eddie inside, Eddie will know. He’ll know because Bowers doesn’t beat up someone this bad just for being a loser. He’ll know because he’ll ask Richie with such concern, with his eyes wide and so innocent-looking, and Richie will  melt at the sight of him and blabber like he always does.</p><p>Richie stands frozen, staring at Eddie with wide eyes.</p><p>“Let me in, asshole!” Eddie’s muffled voice wins the battle in his head, obviously, because Richie would do anything for him in a heartbeat and they both know it.</p><p>Well, that settles it, then.</p><p>He doesn’t have time to contain his sobs as he walks over and then opens the window. “What t-the hell are you doing here?”</p><p>Eddie climbs in quickly, and he’s about to fire off like a firecracker when Richie’s trembling figure and beat up face finally recognizes in his mind. His face falls, and his voice drops to a carefully toned question. “Rich, what happened?” </p><p>Richie shakes his head, making no other sound then the sniffles and whimpers from his tears of distress. He can’t tell him. He can’t tell Eddie. If he tells Eddie he knows for a fact that he’s going to get punched, and he really can’t afford to be punched again tonight. </p><p>“Richie?” Eddie asks, frowning. He opens his arms slowly.  “Can I hug you?”</p><p>Richie shakes worse, thinking that a hug from Eddie might be just what he needs. He tries to fill the silence as he thinks with words. “I don’t—I don’t know, can—“  He begins to say. But he finishes what he’s thinking before he finishes his joke. The need to feel loved wins over the fear of hate, and he lets out a quiet wail as he goes to hug Eddie back. “Eds,” he chokes out.</p><p>“Hey--” Eddie hugs him back, feeling quite a bit stunned by the vulnerability Richie was showing. It wasn’t like Richie was incapable of crying, that was definitely not the case. It’s just that Richie was much more likely to try and crack a joke, or escape the situation before showing tears. “Hey, Rich.”</p><p>Eddie hesitates before gently rubbing Richie’s back, hugging him tighter. Richie winces at the sudden pressure, causing Eddie to pull away fast. “Wait wait wait—are you hurt?”</p><p>Before Richie can even answer, Eddie notices the blood now dripping to the floor. “Holy shit! Richie, what the fuck? Okay, go wash off your hands and face. You’re so lucky I brought my first aid kit—“</p><p>He practically drags Richie by his shirt into the bathroom, moving quietly to match the sounds of the night. </p><p>Richie stops in front of the mirror of the bathroom, he can see blood caked on to his face right beside the bruises. He didn’t remember getting a bloody nose from Henry’s punches, but he didn’t quite remember anything but the pain. </p><p>The water turns red as it swirls down the drain, which more or less made Richie’s stomach twist with nausea because some things (such as blood in the sewers) can’t ever be forgotten. The ice cold water from the faucet feels nice on his now swollen hands. He takes a wet towel and then wipes his face off carefully, flinching whenever the rough fabric scraped against skin that was harmed.</p><p>Beside him, Eddie has laid out his entire first aid kit on the counter, along with the frozen bag of carrots. He begins to talk in a quick whisper. “Y’know, I saw you bike by my house. You looked hurt, but I didn’t know it was this bad. And you still gotta tell me what happened, these are some serious injuries! These cuts could be infected, and bruises can mean that your internal organs are hurt and stuff, and that’s not even to mention—“</p><p>“Eddie, please shut up,” Richie wipes away snot and tears on his shirt. He sits on the edge of the bathtub, holding his hands out for Eddie to bandage. “It’s not like I got beat up on purpose.”</p><p>“I know,” Eddie defends. He sighs and unwraps an antiseptic wipe from its package. He delicately takes Richie’s hands, holding them like Richie’s mother would handle the fine china plates in the dining room, and starts to wipe his hands down. “Why did you get beat up? Was Bowers just being especially an asshole?”</p><p>Eddie’s voice had slowed in its rhythm as well as grown quieter as he concentrated on Richie’s hands, with most of his attention and energy going to cleaning up the afflicted skin and less of it going to thinking. (Eddie was always thinking. That’s why he talked so fast). Richie had to try his best not to jerk his hands away as his face flushed a dusty pink. </p><p>“Yeah, sort of.” Richie shook his head. “That’s all, Eds. He was just being himself, saw me walking outside the arcade, and took the opportunity, I guess.”</p><p>Richie pulls his hand away quickly and shoves his glasses back up his nose; a nervous tick that he’s had for ages. He returns his hand back to its previous location, but Eddie is watching him carefully.</p><p>“Right,” Eddie comments blankly, not giving Richie any indication on what he was thinking through his tone of voice. “Rich, you know you can tell me anything?”</p><p>“‘Course. I’ve known you since we were five,” Richie grins crookedly. There’s something unusually fake about the grin. He’s masking again. </p><p>Eddie frowns deeply and unravels medical gauze, slowly wrapping it around Richie’s hands. “Yeah. You have. You’re my best friend.”</p><p>He spoke carefully, trying to pour every ounce of trust and knowing into his sentences so that they may convey that he is here for Richie, and that he always has been and always will be. It is ever so bittersweet, and Richie’s heart breaks because of course he gets the message.</p><p>The smile on Richie’s face falters. Because Eddie’s right. He’s his best friend—he deserves to know.</p><p>“You’re right,” Richie says quietly. He takes a deep breath. “I’m not really afraid of clowns.”</p><p>Eddie furrows his eyebrows and opens another pack of antiseptic wipes. He begins cleaning up Richie’s face, and that’s what is really going to break him, because now Eddie is gently holding his chin and they’re faces are close enough where he couldn’t hide even the smallest sliver of emotion. </p><p>Out of the many questions floating through Eddie’s head, he chooses the one that Richie didn’t have a good answer for. “Why’d you lie?” He asks, cleaning around the bruises carefully.</p><p>“I—I was scared, I guess,” Richie answers lamely, his head going blank from any sort of witty retort.</p><p>“Well, yeah. We all were. That’s like the whole point, an alien clown was chasing us.” Eddie quirks his eyebrows, looking at Richie incredulously. “We all told each other what we saw, we were all scared—“</p><p>“I was scared for a different reason, okay?” Richie huffs. He avoids Eddie’s eyes. “I was scared for the same reason I got beat up today.”</p><p>Eddie pulls his hands back. “Richie, what are you so afraid of? We’re all losers. It’s not like you can be any more of a loser than me, or Bill, or Ben, or any of us. That’s like our whole thing. We’re all—“</p><p>“Henry Bowers thinks I’m gay. That’s why I got beat up.”</p><p>Silence is what he’s met with. The type of silence where nobody quite knows what they need to say, which is most likely different from what they want to say. The type of quiet that is both feared and respected.</p><p>Eddie hands him the bag of frozen carrots. “Oh,” he says simply.</p><p>“Oh,” Richie repeats, quiet and weak. He presses the frozen bag of veggies against the mess of purple on his face. </p><p>“Do…” Eddie clears his throat. “Do you think you’re gay?”</p><p>That’s the age old question, isn’t it? The real kicker. Richie stares at Eddie, but all that is written on his face is patience. Patience without a hint of anger, and that’s what makes Richie relax.</p><p>“No,” Richie says, but it’s much too fast and he’s already given Eddie all the context he needs to figure it out. So after a beat, he adds: “Not if it ends up with me getting a black eye every afternoon. It’s not—I’m not normal.”</p><p>Eddie frowns again. He hates when Eddie frowns. For him, it’s like watching the rain in the middle of summer, when all he wants to do is go outside. It makes his heart fall, and his hope for the world dim far too much. It makes his limbs restless and his energy completely gone. When Eddie frowns, Richie frowns too. It was incredibly dramatic, but Richie was a sap and that's what love does.</p><p>“You aren’t normal,” Eddie says. Richie looks up, his heart momentarily stopping. Eddie continues just as quick. “But nobody is, Richie. Especially the losers. Stupid Bowers will just have to accept that.”</p><p>Richie looks down. </p><p>“Rich,” Eddie starts. “Why didn’t you tell us?”</p><p>“Like I said. I was scared,” Richie responds shortly. “That’s all.”</p><p>Eddie hugs him for the second time that night, and this time Richie fights the flinching and hugs him back despite the pain. “I was scared you’d hate me.”</p><p>“That I would hate you?” Eddie laughs to himself, thinking that the very notion is ridiculous. “Could never hate you. You’re Richie.”</p><p>“He thought I was flirting with his cousin,” Richie explains, just loud enough for Eddie to hear. “He punched me real good. Kicked my ribs too. I managed to get a few good licks in and then ran away.”</p><p>“He kicked your ribs?” Eddie asks, his eyes wide. His voice is the normal now, carrying an everlasting annoyed twinge that secretly was just anxiety and worry. “Why the fuck didn’t you start with that? Pull your shirt up, put the ice on those bruises. You’re lucky he didn’t fucking break them.”</p><p>Richie begins to laugh, but begins to snicker instead to remain quiet. “Sorry, Eds. I’m fine, promise.”</p><p>“Richie.”</p><p>Richie sighs and pulls up his shirt, moving the ice pack there. “Fine. But don’t think for a second you have any control over me.”</p><p>Richie knows for a fact that Eddie definitely does have control over him, Eddie just doesn’t know it. He would hang the moon and stars if Eddie asked.</p><p>“Whatever, asshole.” Eddie sits next to him on the edge of the bathtub. “You feeling any better?”</p><p>The words that had been said to Richie not even an hour ago were replaced by careful and safe touches by soft hands that loved him, and he realizes that not only do his wounds feel better, but his heart does too. Of course, it’s incredibly difficult to describe something this intimately healing, so Richie nods instead.</p><p>“Yeah,” Richie smiles a bit. “Thanks, Dr. K.”</p><p>Eddie snorts, gently shoving Richie away by his shoulder. “No problem, insubordinate patient.”</p><p>“Jokes on you, I don’t even know what that means,” Richie bites back.</p><p>“It means you don’t listen.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Are you deaf? It means you don’t listen,” Eddie repeats.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I said it means you don’t—“ Eddie pauses. “Listen here, asshole—“</p><p>Richie howls with laughter, and he clasps a hand over his mouth to stay quiet. Eddie begins to giggle beside him. The late hours of the night has finally catched up with the two of them, because they lean against each other and giggle over the stupid joke.</p><p>Eddie slings an arm around Richie’s shoulder. “I should probably go. My mom could notice I’m not in bed.”</p><p>Richie nods. “Yeah, sure.”</p><p>Eddie stands and collects his things, putting all of his beginner medical equipment into his fanny pack. “Just if this wasn’t clear, by the way—I don’t care if you’re gay. To me, you’re just… Richie. You’re my best friend, and I love you.”</p><p>A sense of warmth flows through Richie’s chest, and he smiles. “Thanks Eddie Spaghetti. I, uh. I love you too.”</p><p>As Eddie climbs out through the window, Richie is reminded how much he really does love Eddie.</p><p>It doesn’t have to be romantic, Richie reasons. It doesn’t have to be romantic love at all. Being Eddie’s best friend is enough for him, now. Especially when Eddie knows who he really is, and he loves him. He said it himself.</p><p>If there’s one thing he’s learned from tonight’s adventure, is that love beats hate, always. Because love is like a fire, flickering and growing with the more fuel you provide it, and hate is like the darkest shadow in the street. That’s what he thinks, anyways, as he’s lying in bed and letting the evening replay in his mind.</p><p>Henry Bowers is nothing but a shadow.</p><p>And Eddie Kaspbrak will always be his light.</p><p>He falls asleep easy, dreaming of sweet smiles and yellow pastel polo shirts. For the first time in a while—he feels normal.</p><p>the end :^)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The first draft for inspiration:</p><p> </p><p>Finally, Richie got fed up with the name calling and the casual bitter punches. He found that while he wasn’t as strong as he thought, he was still able to get a few good hits to Henry Bower’s stupid face. </p><p>The concerned knocking at Richie’s window grows louder, and he’s sure as rain that it’s Eddie who sits outside on the roof. He does not reply, instead staring at his bloodied knuckles with disdain, letting iron and salt mix on his hands as the tears fall freely from his face. </p><p>“I am not normal,” Richie mutters. “I am not normal. Stupid Bowers will just have to accept that.” </p><p>He lets out a resentful sigh. “...And so will I.”</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>